


Of Your Innocence Undone

by geckoholic



Series: kink bingo fills [7]
Category: Batman (Comics), DCU (Comics)
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - No Capes, Anal Plug, Anal Sex, Bondage, Cock & Ball Torture, Consensual Kink, Dom/sub, Dry Orgasm, Edgeplay, Erotic Electrostimulation, M/M, Manipulative Dom, Nipple Clamps, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Painplay, Riding Crops, Sex Toys, Subspace, Suspension, Voyeurism, Whipping, past Power Imbalance, past dubious consent, past manipulative relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-26
Updated: 2017-11-26
Packaged: 2019-02-07 07:46:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,304
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12836520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/geckoholic/pseuds/geckoholic
Summary: A night out, a chance meeting, a few drinks, and now here Jason is, a week later, about to watch Dick's ex prepare him for a heavy suspension scene.





	Of Your Innocence Undone

**Author's Note:**

> Uhm. Hi. So this was originally written for the recent Sladin Week -- Day 3, _threesomes_ \-- but then there were, say, complications. (Me. Mostly me. My stupid brain was the complication.) So it did not get posted for that, and I'm sneaking it in as a late fill for the _chains/locks_ square on my season of kink card. 
> 
> And in case the tags didn't get it across: there's a past relationship here between Dick and Slade that is intentionally kept ambiguous and that Jason as the POV character suspects to have been at least somewhat shady. The effects of that on their dynamic during play reverberate into the scene in this fic, too. 
> 
> Beta-read by beta-lactamase, eternusmysterium and zillabird. Thanks to all three of you!! ♥ All remaining mistakes are mine.
> 
> Title is from "Inch Of Rope" by Courrier.

Following your boyfriend over the threshold of their ex's house, Jason assumes, is always inherently awkward. No way around that. But it's the intent behind this particular visit that renders him unable to so much as figure out what to do with his hands as they cross the generous hallway and are lead towards the basement. He folds them in front of himself, straightens them out and presses them flat to his hips, then shoves them into the pockets of his jeans. He's nervous, although he's hardly the one who has any reason for that; his only role tonight is to _watch_. Nope, the one who would have ample reason for thin nerves is Dick, considering all the things that Slade's going to do to him tonight – and no, Jason isn't going to think about that just yet. This is strange enough without him already marching into the playroom with a visible boner on top of his probably obvious lack of composure. 

The place is really nice on the whole, reeks of money but in an understated, elegant way. It's not stuffed with expensive, unnecessary knickknack. The only paintings on the wall are modern expressionism by either new or no-name artists, from what Jason can tell, and the interior, same as the owner with his tailored suit, looks a bit like it was taken from a late nineties yuppie movie. That's the decorating style upstairs, at least. The basement is another thing altogether. Its purpose is immediately obvious, thick padded walls that scream _soundproof_ and glass cases with... toys, for the lack of a better word. One wall is reserved for a St. Andrews Cross made of striped metal, and there are hooks embedded into the other walls, in regular intervals. Nothing too out there for a playroom, it's just that the whole aesthetic is a bit too much _comic book villain torture chamber_ for Jason, personally. 

And okay, fine. The way that Dick's face lights up with recognition and reminiscence when Slade turns in a circle, arms wide like he's presenting him with a generous gift, might have a little something to do with his distaste. Dick isn't nervous at all. Dick is excited. And Jason can't quite stave off the thought that he's missed all this, missed Slade, missed the things Jason can't give him – or refuses to, rather. 

“I had some work done since you were last here,” Slade says, all puffed up with pride. “Do you like it?” 

Dick turns to him, beaming, and nods. Then his eyes lock with Jason's and he reaches out for Jason's hand, tugs him closer until their shoulders touch. “I do. Looks great, doesn't it, Jay?” 

Because he has some manners, Jason nods, musters up a tight smile. “Sure.” 

None of this is for him. He isn't even entirely sure how this came to be, in hindsight. A night out, a chance meeting, a few drinks, and now here he is, a week later, about to watch Dick's ex prepare him for a heavy suspension scene. And then watch the scene itself, of course. Just watch. That's the deal. He doesn't have to chime in, doesn't get a say. He'll do the preparation and step back in when it comes to the conclusion and to the aftercare, but not a second earlier. 

Dick steals a kiss, squeezing his palm. “Just relax. I'm in good hands, and I want you to enjoy this too.” 

Whether or not Slade's hands are, indeed, good hands, Jason still isn't sure. He's not a bad dom, from what Jason's heard, via Dick and others, but... There's enough to piece it together, read between the lines. Dick was eighteen when he met him, and hadn't done more than nipple clamps and the occasional face slap. Fast forward three years, and Dick emerged from that relationship being personally acquainted with most of the would-be torture devices that are displayed in this room. The thought gives Jason a bitter aftertaste, is all. 

And just as if he sensed that, read it off Jason's face somehow, Slade claps his hands together once and looks from him to Dick, then back again, looking him over like he's seizing up his rival before the flag comes down for a street race. “So, shall we start?” 

Jason makes a point of searching for Dick's gaze. “You tell us, Dickie. You ready?” 

The answering glance Dick gives him is soft, fond, almost a bit patronizing. He knows how this game is played. He's comfortable with it. He knows what to expect. Jason is the one who feels like he volunteered for a mission on enemy territory and can't leave again because that means he'd be abandoning the one person he came here to protect. 

“Yeah,” Dick says, squeezes Jason's hand once more before he lets go and takes a step forward, positioning himself between Jason and Slade. “I'm ready.” 

Pretty much on the spot Slade's demeanor changes. His shoulders tighten, and his expression closes off, becoming commanding, even more arrogant. He lets his eyes roam over Dick, head to toe, like he's examining a costly item at an auction. His voice is harder than before when he says, quick and harsh, “Strip.” 

And Dick obeys without hesitation. He undoes the buttons on his dress shirt, pulls the undershirt over his head. Toes off his shoes and removes his socks, unzips his jeans and steps out of them, then lets his boxers follow. He's naked within moments and he's standing there in a position that is obviously familiar, repeated so often it's an automatic response: back straight and palms flat on his upper thighs. Makes it look like he's been _trained_. Which Jason knows doesn't have to mean anything bad and is a part of a lot of longstanding dom-sub relationships, it's just that it's not his thing. Not really. He doesn't like the idea of owning another person in such a way, pretend and make-believe as it might be, and there's a weird flurry of emotions in the back of his head at the knowledge that Dick likes being owned. 

Slade looks Dick over again, gaze hungry, damn near predatory, but yet again, the one he speaks to is Jason. “There's a room in the back. You can do what you like in order to get him ready, and I'll take him off your hands when he's prepped and hot for it.” He nods towards a row of chairs at one wall of the room. “You can watch from there once we get going.” 

Jason cocks his head in answer. “Why are you talking to me, not him? Is that a dehumanization thing, or...?” 

“Look,” Slade says with a sigh, the rigid mask slipping as break his role, altogether acting like he not only gave a priced racehorse to a someone who keeps it in the backyard as a hobby, but also has to explain its proper handling to them because they're just that clueless. “You're domming him now, right? When you two play?” 

There's a universe between what Jason would define as play and what Slade is about to do, but technically... “Yeah?” 

He hates how it comes out as a question, and this time Slade is visibly suppressing an eye roll. “So you're responsible for him now. I got him for tonight, but he's still yours. I'm just borrowing him, and that means, for as long as he's here, I talk to you."

Jason scoffs. "He's not my property."

The look Slade gives him is down the nose, pitying. Something else too, something like jealousy, and again the note that means he considers Jason to be undeserving of Dick's affection, Dick's love, Dick's trust. "But he is, like this. His pleasure belongs to you. His pain belongs to you. It's just that you're not willing to take everything he's willing to give you." 

That hits far too close to home, and it's Dick who breaks up the situation, turns away from Slade so that he's facing Jason, and smiles. “It's okay. I know the rules. I want this.” 

And no, that's not right. Dick isn't here to comfort Jason. It's supposed to be the other way around, but so far all Jason has been doing is make the situation worse for Dick, divide his attention, have him feel like he'll have to be Jason's guide, Jason's cushion, the buffer between him and Slade. That's too much responsibility. If he can't relax, can't let himself fall, what's ahead of him will be even more difficult to endure. 

Jason takes a deep breath and extends his hand towards Dick. “Come on, then. Let's get you ready.” 

Dick closes the distance between them and takes it, and the contact leaves Jason cocky enough to shoot Slade a long, challenging look as they head for the backroom. Belatedly it occurs to him that Dick might be the one to pay for that, during the scene, but from the way Dick's been talking about all this beforehand, he might not even mind. 

The backroom isn't what Jason expected. For some reason he had anticipated another over the top playground, a miniature version of the main room. But the wide king-sized bed leans more towards the pricey but elegant style from upstairs. The sheets are dark gray and black, the frame is stripped metal, and the amount of pillows spread out on it is rather reasonable. There's a small black bedside table on each side, shiny but probably plastic, carrying discreet but unmistakable labels on each drawer. On it there's a bottle of lube and a couple condom wrappers, something that looks like salve, a washcloth in a bowl, and a variety of bottles containing juice and sports drinks. 

Dick lets go of his hand and assumes the same position he held after Slade made him strip a few minutes ago, and something in Jason rebels at the sight, even harder now that the obedient, overly subservient position is assumed for him. This isn't the Dick he knows, who meets Jason with his chin jutted out and thunder in his gaze when they play, demands his torment rather than begging for it. Jason catches himself wondering which of them is the role, which of them is the truth, whether Dick learned how to mold himself into what his dom wants down here and that's just the kind of performance he delivers for Jason's sake. 

Jason shakes his head. “No. Relax, okay? Don't pull that shit with me.” 

Instantly Dick's stance slackens, and he looks up to meet Jason's eyes. What he sees there must give him reason for concern because he reaches for Jason's hand again, massages the meat of Jason's palm with his thumb, then leans in closer and brushes his lips against Jason's jaw. “Don't let him get into your head,” he whispers, and then continues, voice stronger, more firm. “I know you sometimes feel like there's something I'm not getting from you. And I miss it now and then, I do, or we wouldn't be here. But I don't _need_ it. I love you, and I love what we are, and if this makes you too uncomfortable we can leave right now. Just tell me. I won't hold it against you.” 

And yeah, Dick's right. Jason knew about all this, about Dick's more edgy preferences. They talked about it a lot in the beginning, trying to stake out each of their limits and find the middle ground that would work for both of them. Slade's presence today doesn't change that, nor does it change _Dick_. It shouldn't change the way Jason views and perceives him either. 

Jason approaches the bed and pulls Dick along, pulls him into an embrace, Jason's arms closing around the small of is back. They kiss, and it's exhilarating, the way Dick sighs into the kiss, content and needy. Jason lets his hands shift lower, grabbing and kneading the bare skin of Dick's ass, and smiles when he feels Dick's erection swell against his thigh. 

He backs them both up against the bed and lets himself flop down as soon as the backs of his knees hit the mattress, once more tugging Dick along, until Dick is straddling his hips, forearms braced on either side of Jason's head, their kisses growing hungry and deep. 

Jason puts both hands on Dick's bare hips, firmly, and turns is head to the side to break the kiss. “Alright. Enough of that.” 

Dick pouts, and there it is, the spark in his eyes that says he obeys because he wants to, not because anyone's _making_ him do anything. Letting his fingers dig in just a little too hard, just this side of bruising, Jason shoves him off and onto his back, which is where Dick stays, watching him intently, while Jason rearranges himself. He sits up against the headboard, legs wide, and, once comfortable, motions for Dick to sit back against his chest. 

His hands roam over Dick's shoulders, sides, and stomach, luxuriating in the fact that all that naked skin is on display for him to touch and tease while he himself hasn't yet lost a single stitch of clothing. That's nothing new; Dick likes it that way. Says it makes the submission hit harder if he's bare and vulnerable in contrast to a fully clothed dom. 

“Are you nervous?” asks Jason, his hands now smoothing up and down Dick's upper arms. 

For a moment Dick looks like he's going to say that he isn't, shoulders tense, chin up and not giving any quarters, but then he softens, nods. “Yeah. It's been some time since I last did this.” 

Jason leans forward to mouth at his neck, tongue the sensitive spot below the hinge of his jaw. One hand wraps around Dick's throat, loosely, a threat or a promise, and with the other he reaches for Dick's cock, hard and wanting, and Dick sucks in a breath when Jason starts jacking him without preamble. He moans, deep, and Jason can feel the sound as much as he hears it. The world falls away: Slade, the playroom outside, any worry that Dick might give him a persona when they fuck. This is real. This is trust and openness and a gift Jason shouldn't sully by doubting him. 

It's difficult to remind himself that they're not engaging in a leisurely makeout here, that this has a purpose, that it's preparation, a prologue to the main event. He reaches for the lube and uncaps it, about to tell Dick to turn around and go on all fours so Jason can open him up, but he thinks twice of it. There'll be enough done _to_ Dick as soon as they leave this room. 

“Do you want to do it? Prep yourself?” he asks, the question whispered against Dick's neck, and Dick's breath hitches. 

He nods and holds up a hand, and Jason squirts some lube on Dick's fingers instead. He reaches between his own legs and sets upon his task. Jason goes back to smoothing his hands up and down his torso, taking detours along his chest here and there, teasing and pinching his nipples. Each time, he's rewarded with a moan, Dick pressing back against him, grinding down on Jason's cock, trapped both in the confines of his clothes and by Dick's weight. 

“Okay,” Jason says eventually, hands coming to rest on the swell of Dick's hipbones. “Stop. Do you feel sufficiently prepped and hot for it?” 

Dick's head falls back against Jason's neck, and he hears him chuckle at the direct repetition. “Yes, sir.” 

They untangle themselves, and walk into the playroom the same way they walked out of it: holding hands, Jason unflinchingly meeting Slade's gaze. He hauls Dick back against himself when the latter is about to let go, for one last messy, dirty kiss, and then Dick is walking over to Slade, who stands in the middle of the room, still in his expensive suit, waiting, and holds Jason's eyes right back while he grips Dick's hand in turn and leads him to a table that's covered by a silky tarp, all dramatics and appearances. Next to it there's a chain descending from a rafter on the ceiling, which itself is connected to a mechanism that allows to adjust its height. Dangling from the hook is a pair of wide, padded leather cuffs, and even though Dick talked him through the basic setup, Jason's heart beats faster at the sight. This is going to happen. Dick is going to _let_ it happen to himself, is going to enjoy it, has been looking forward to it for days. 

And Jason doesn't mind the more intense play, per se. Fuck knows he jerked off to plenty of porn that was no different than what's about to happen here, just... none of that involved his own boyfriend. They play at home too, and Jason has no qualms indulging Dick's masochism here and there, tried to go further, but he found that the idea of inflicting actual, howling pain on the man he loves turns him off. Whether or not he's okay with watching someone else do it, well, the next hour or so will show him. He's allowed to leave when it gets too much, no hard feelings, on prior agreement, although that won't stop the proceedings. The only one who can call off the scene itself is Dick. 

“Do you want to see the gear beforehand?” Slade asks, nodding towards the tarp, snapping Jason's attention back to them. Dick shakes his head and Slade nods again. “You know how this works. Hands stretched out above your head, and tell me when you're about to lose your balance.” 

Dick obediently holds his hands up above his head and lets himself be locked into the cuffs, balls his hands into fists and tugs at them, testing their fit, seeing if they're comfortable. He reaches and grips the chain, wrapped in plastic for the first few inches, and the muscles in his forearms bunch as he lets the whole contraption take more of his weight. He gives Slade a small nod, who hauls on the chain, pulling Dick's arms up until Dick's hands open, and he waves, shaking his head. At that point he's basically standing on his tiptoes, his whole body taut, the strain of the position visible on his face; it's not going to get any easier the more time passes. 

Slade grins, pleased, excited, and secures his end of the chain. He walks over to Dick and slides a hand up Dick's inner thigh, past his balls, and gives Dick's hard cock a few rough strokes. 

“Ready to pick out your first punishment?” he asks, and Jason wants to roll his eyes at the term. 

With little flourish, Slade pulls away the tarp, revealing – well, yeah, toys really isn't the right word for it, gear might indeed be more appropriate. There's a small transistor with cables connecting to a metal plug and a couple of electrodes, a stylized cattle prod with a black handle and a pointed, dark red tip, a couple of candles, a leather whip, a few bottles and tins Jason can't read the labels of, a syringe, still sealed, a handful of clover clamps, a riding crop... they're not short on options. 

“What will it be? How do we start?” Slade prompts, and Jason's eyes fly back to Dick, who swallows hard, gaze roaming the gear on the table. 

His chest rises and falls on a deep breath, then he looks at Slade and smiles. “The whip.” 

“Good choice.” Slade, practically vibrating with excitement, picks the whip off the table and cracks it once, for show, in the opposite direction, away from Dick. 

That's the moment where Jason remembers that he's been offered a seat, and that he might need it. The whip swishes through the air and the thought that in a few moments that thing is come down on _Dick's body_ makes him want to go over there and stand between the two, to shield Dick from the pain; the pain Dick _wants_. He'll watch it, he's here to watch it, he promised, but yeah, that might be easier if he's sitting, a bit further away, not a mere handful of steps from interfering. 

The realization that there's a reason for a row of seats, that some of these scenes will happen for an audience, gets stuffed in a box. Not now. He can't think about that now, about leering bystanders, possibly strangers, watching as Dick gets taken apart in front of them. He'll ask about it, once they're home; he knows he will. But, later. He can't take that mental image now. 

Slade walks around Dick slowly, and Jason watches Dick hold his breath, does the same, in anticipation of the first strike. He keeps them waiting, and it's a shock to both of them when he raises the whip with a flick of his wrist, then lets it crack down on Dick's back; Jason's heart misses a beat and Dick yelps in shock, rapid, panted breaths wrecking his whole body. He doesn't get an opportunity to gather himself, because the whip comes down again, and again, leaving angry welts in its wake – the skin reddened, raised, but not broken. That's when Jason notices that the cracks of the whips are far less severe than they could be; tightly controlled to hurt, but not cause too much damage. He keeps trying to count – six, seven, eight, nine – but eventually he loses track, focuses instead on the way Dick has started to expect the cracks, learning – or remembering - how to read their rhythm, his body tensing seconds before they connect. The welts crisscross his back, a random pattern that reaches from shoulder to hip, with some stragglers landing lower, decorating his ass. He doesn't make any more noise, though, takes the torment with a straight face, lower lip sucked between his teeth. 

After maybe a few minutes, Slade gathers in the length of the whip, rolls it up, sets it aside, and walks over to Dick. He spins him around, disturbing his balance, and Jason only realizes the purpose of that when Dick looks him in the eyes, now licking his lips. Slade reaches between Dick's legs again. Dick has lost his erection, and Slade too holds Jason's gaze while he fondles him, then strokes, getting him hard again. Then he leans in to press a kiss to Dick's temple, nuzzling there, whispering something Jason can't hear. 

Louder, he says, “What's next?” and spins him again. 

For a moment Dick's eyes weave between Slade and the table, but then an expression of resolve and pride appears on his face. He smirks. “Riding crop.”

The answering look on Slade's face is a mix of amused and disappointed; he would have preferred something else and Dick knows that, and it's another reminder that there's an old, practiced dynamic at work between the two. Then Slade smiles, sweetly, and it looks wrong on his face. “It comes in tandem with the clamps, you good with that?” 

Dick nods, visibly suppressing a groan. Seems like he knew, or at least expected, that too. “Yes.” 

Nodding back, Slade retrieves another leather cuff from a drawer underneath the table, this one larger than the two around Dick's wrist, and fiddles with the rafter, letting down another chain. He lowers the one that's connected to the wrist cuffs just a little, so that Dick can assume a more stable stance, and hooks the large cuff to the second up line. Then he smooths his hand over the back of Dick's left leg, and the response is immediate: Dick begins to lift it up, forward, in the direction that's implied by the touch, and Slade holds him up with one hand underneath this thigh, using the other to secure the cuff just above his knee. He adjusts the height until Dick's knee is angled upward, and held to the side, making his position even more open, even more vulnerable, exposed and accessible. 

“Comfortable?” he asks. 

Dick still has the wherewithal to roll his eyes. “About to doze off, actually.” 

The grin Slade cracks at that somehow manages to be thrilled, cruel, and fond at the same time. “Then let's wake you up.” 

He starts with the clamps, and Dick doesn't show much of an outward reaction when the first two are clamped to his nipples. Jason expects them to be distributed quickly, but Slade pauses after that, considering Dick with a faux-thoughtful furrow to his brow. He reaches between Dick's legs, and that does get a reaction, a small flinch, when he rolls Dick's balls in the palm of his hands, like the gentle touch is more of a threat than the act of securing the clamps on his nipples. Slade's fingers run up the ball sack. He tugs, but not all that much or all that hard, still grinning. 

Then he lets go and slaps the sack a few times in quick succession, from alternating sides. Dick's hands work in their cuffs and he sways, the muscles in his left legs straining as he instinctively tries to close his legs. That doesn't work, of course, with the cuff in place to hold him open, allow access for whatever torment Slade chooses to inflict. Dick is panting by the time Slade lets up, then turns around to pick four more clamps from the table and proceeds to attach them to Dick's scrotum, above each testicle, two per side. 

There's a pause where Dick breathes heavily through the initial pain, and Slade takes the riding crop off the table but doesn't do anything with it yet, simply surveying his handiwork. Dick's gaze is pinned to the crop from the second Slade picks it up, and he keeps eying it while Slade walks around him, passing the crop from hand to hand. 

“Close your eyes,” he instructs. 

Dick whines, but obeys, screwing his eyes shut, the bravery and defiance melting from him like ice in the sun. Slade raises the crop, but doesn't hit, just lets it tap over Dick's skin while he rounds him again. That kind of tease lasts for another couple minutes, and even Jason's nerves are begin to thrum from watching, waiting, from the anticipation. He can't even imagine how Dick must feel, except for the reaction he sees: his whole body heaves with deep, arrhythmic inhales, head cocked as he tries to track Slade by ear, following his movements like prey would try to track an approaching predator. 

The riding crop swishes through the air, and Dick and Jason flinch in unison when it comes down low on Dick's ass. A couple more hits there follow, and then Slade rounds Dick in a few quick, long strides and the next time the crop comes down it's on Dick's erection, making it bounce. The noise Dick makes in reaction is halfway between a cry and a moan, and that's when Jason's own cock takes a real interest in the proceedings – it underlines both his helplessness and his enjoyment, the fact that he enjoys offering himself up like this, for another person to do with as they please and make him feel both pain and pleasure, often at the same time, fueling each other. Jason has dabbled with subbing, although he's more partial to doming; he doesn't enjoy the feeling of being so dependent, so utterly powerless and in someone else's hands. Dick does; Dick gets off on that more than anything else. 

He watches, spellbound, how Dick's stomach muscles ripple with another deep breath while Slade teases his clamped balls with the crop. How his whole body tenses, then relaxes, then tenses again while Slade lets the crop rain down on his cock several times, quickly, barely giving him time to work through one hit before the next one lands. The whipping was different, wasn't so obviously sexual, but this, this has Jason twitch in his pants every time Dick tenses and tries, futility, to recoil from the source of his pain. His enjoyment still remains obvious; he's rock hard, started leaking at the head, and his face is flushed with arousal as well. 

Slade's expression, meanwhile, has morphed into one of satisfaction and pride, the outline of his hard-on clear in his dress pants. He readjusts himself after he sets the riding crop aside, and then steps into Dick's space, rubs himself against Dick's body, apparently unbothered by soiling his expensive suit with precome and sweat. His hand wanders between Dick's legs, and Dick strains in his wrist cuffs, trying to twist away, struggling harder than his instincts have so far led him to try and escape the impacts of either the whip or the crop. 

The hand between Dick's legs wraps around his cock, and Dick's eyes fly open. He says Slade's name, chocked off, begging. 

“You already want to come,” Slade says, his tone incredulous, disappointed. “Do you think you've earned that yet?” 

Dick shakes his head, even as he breathes out a low, desperate, “Please.” 

His other arm wrapping around Dick's torso, rubbing over the welts on his lower back, Slade starts stroking Dick's cock, the pace rapid and unceremonious. Dick thrusts into the pressure and continues to beg, more whispered pleas and denials, and Jason understands why he still sounds so frantic when he shows the first signs of approaching orgasm, the tension in his body and his expression that Jason also knows by heart, and Slade suddenly, swiftly takes his hand away, making Dick's hips pump into empty air. 

Slade waits while Dick calms down a little, palm laid out on Dick's upper thigh, leaning in and trailing his lips over Dick's jaw, and then resumes the stimulation at the same vicious and unforgiving rhythm. He waits a little longer now, pushing Dick closer to the edge, and again, takes his hand away. He pinches the base of Dick's cock and Dick writhes against him, whining in frustration. The whole process is repeated five times, always leaving Dick on the very precipice of orgasm, until finally there's a small squirt of come, dribbling from the head and down the shaft rather than spurting, and this is something Jason has done with him at home, too. The experience is mechanical, joyless, and will ensure that achieving a satisfying release later tonight might not be impossible, but difficult, and nowhere near as good as a full orgasm. 

Thumb rubbing over the mess on the tip of Dick's cock, making him squirm with the overstimulation, Slade removes the clamps on his nipples and balls, flicking the abused skin with his fingertips. Dick merely grimaces and chews on his lips, not even trying to get away anymore, and his eyelashes are wet when he blinks. 

“I'm sorry,” he says when Slade steps away to deposit the clamps back on the table. “I'm sorry, I – “

“No.” Slade's voice is gentler now, but firm. He cups Dick's face and Dick pushes into the contact like a cat being petted. “You got overexcited and you took the consequences, and now you're forgiven.” 

He leans in and kisses Dick, and Dick kisses back, hungry; Jason recognizes it as an exchange for comfort and reassurance, but it still makes jealously coil in the pit of his stomach. The moment stretches endlessly, and he has to ball his hands into fists on his thighs in order to keep from walking over there and demanding to switch places, be the one to help Dick simmer down. But it's not his turn yet. He's been granted the aftercare. That will have to be enough. 

Slade steps back and points to the table, and Dick's expression is resolute, brave, but brittle, in stark contrast to the snotty attitude from earlier. “You get five minutes. But after that, what's next?” 

Dick inhales. “The plug.” 

“My favorite.” Slade whistles through his teeth in unmistakable delight, and Jason grinds his teeth for reasons that don't have anything to do with jealously. 

This is Dick making a choice in order to appease Slade after a perceived, possibly constructed slight, and Jason gets the sinking feeling that he guilt-tripped Dick into harder play like this before. It feels like conditioning, training, in the more ugly sense of the word. Dick feels like he failed, wants to make up for that failure, wants to please him, and instead of being critical and re-checking whether Dick's choice was made for the right reasons, Slade's reaction seems borderline selfish. Less about Dick, more about his own pleasure. 

But maybe Jason is biased. Maybe he wants to see an abuse of power because his opinion on Slade and his methods solidified a long time ago, and – 

The last thing he expects is for Slade to jerk his head towards him, just then, avoiding eye contact, his attention still on Dick and no one else. “Do you want your boyfriend to help you refocus while I set that up?” 

The word _boyfriend_ is said with barely hidden bitterness, and it could be a conscious step back, a concession to the fact that tonight is an act of nostalgia, a one-time deal. Dick doesn't belong to him anymore. He's with Jason now. Slade lost him, and whatever he does or doesn't do tonight won't change that. And even if Jason's right about setting Dick up to fail within a scene, it's far too late to call Slade on his methods anyway. The real damage was done years ago, and now is not the time to have a discussion with either Slade or Dick about past mistakes. All Jason can do right now is to be there for Dick, help him through the moment, help him to endure what's about to happen. 

He approaches Dick slowly, making sure he's in his field of vision before he touches him, and Dick still flinches when Jason places a hand on his hip. He kneads the skin there and searches for Dick's gaze. 

“Are you okay?” he asks, because it's impossible not to worry, this close; Dick's skin is clammy even though the room is comfortably warm, his eyes are glazed over, the muscles in his arms and thighs are trembling from holding the forced, unnatural position for so long. He smells like come and sweat, and yet he's smiling when he meets Jason's gaze. 

“I'm good,” he says, voice thin but gentle, fond. “Stop worrying.” Jason is about to point how that's in the job description as his boyfriend and Dick will just have to let him, when Dick looks down to his crotch and adds, “And you? Are you enjoying yourself?” 

That's been a mixed bag so far, really, but Dick won't have any use for a detailed review right now. “Of course, babe. You're gorgeous like this, and you've been doing so well. It's fun to watch.” 

As per usual, Dick seems able to catch Jason on a lie from a mile away, even the small white ones. He squints, forehead wrinkling. “You sure about that?” 

Jason moves closer to him, rolls his hips against Dick's leg, half-mast erection filling up at the contact. “Absolutely. Such a pretty sight.” 

On a whim, he reaches between Dick's legs – and it really is kind of hot, the position Slade tied him into, easy access and no way to escape – and brushes his palm over Dick's now limp cock, still smeared with drying come. He squeezes lightly at the head, then moves down to pinch below, where the clamps had been attached to Dick's balls. Dick groans and pushes into the tease. 

“Gorgeous,” Jason repeats, keeping his tone low and rough, and Dick makes a small, needy noise at the praise. 

Jason hardly notices Slade's return, and there's something in his expression when he looks from Jason to Dick and back, like a spark, an idea. Carrying the plug – complete with wires to the transistor – and a bottle of lube, he stares at Jason, corners of his mouth pulling up into one of those self-satisfied grins. 

“Finger him,” he says, and it's not a request but also not quite an order, and for a moment Jason just stares back. He didn't sign on to take orders from anyone, but this feels different; the tone is conspiratorial more than it is commanding. Like he's seen something of himself in Jason, just now, and Jason adds that to the things he'll have to examine more closely once all this is over. 

Right now he looks to Dick, who nods, immediately understanding that Jason needs agreement, _his_ permission, in order to cease being a bystander in this and become a participant. Then Jason holds out his hand for the lube, taking it from Slade, and squeezes a generous dollop onto his fingers before he hands it back and steps behind Dick. 

Dick is still loose from prepping himself earlier, but he's tense. His muscles keep spasming from the strain of his position, from the echo of the pain he's already been subjected to, and that bleeds into his whole body; he's the polar opposite of relaxed. The plug isn't huge, but still capable of hurting him if inserted too soon, too quickly, before he's ready. 

He rubs his lubed fingers over Dick's hole, and even that small stimulation gets Dick moaning, eyes falling closed. Jason hooks his free hand underneath Dick's bound leg, taking some of his weight and allowing him to relieve at least a small part of the strain, and there's something intoxicating in the way Dick accepts the offered support, leans against Jason with a deep and heavy sigh. Jason eases two fingers inside at once, but slowly, barely making it past the rim at first, and only pushes them in further when Dick starts panting out pleas and curses, asking for more at the same time as he's calling Jason names. He fucks his fingers inside just far enough that he can reach Dick's prostate, smiling at the throaty moan Dick gives, and then keeps moving them in and out in a shallow corkscrew motion. 

Slade stops Jason with a hand on his shoulder, which Jason wants to shake off on impulse. “That's enough. Don't get him off yet.” 

And it's difficult, so difficult to step back and let him take over the reins again. Jason eyes the seats where he got relegated to earlier, but no. He's not going back. He's going to stay here, even if the most he can offer until the scene is done is emotional support. Maybe he can also provide a good distraction this time, giving Dick something to focus on besides the pain. He steps around Dick so that he's facing him, leaving Slade to set up the plug. The effort of taking it shows on Dick's face, in his breathing, although it's difficult to tell whether that's really the stretch around the unforgiving metal, or the knowledge that it's going to deliver electric shocks to his insides in a few minutes. For now, though, it's not live, and the next hitch in his breathing is caused by Slade thrusting the plug home and then reaching between Dick's legs to give his still mostly flaccid cock a rough tug. He steps around to Dick's front as well, and Jason has to back up a bit to give him room to work, which for now means attaching two small electrodes on either side of Dick's shaft and leaning in to kiss him while he strokes his cock a little more with small, practiced motions. 

In his other hand, Slade is holding the remote control for the transistor. Jason doesn't see him turn the electric charge up for the first time, but he hears Dick's reaction: a punched out whine, and it's impossible to tell if it's with apprehension or excitement, or a heady mix of both. 

Slade turns to Jason, and Jason stands a little straighter, ready to tell him off if he demands for Jason to return to the sidelines. But he does nothing of the sort. He smiles, full of pride, and nods his head towards Dick. “Look at him. His eyes. Look how much he wants this.” 

And Jason does. He looks. He looks Dick up and down, head to toe: he's on his way back to an erection, cock curving against his stomach. His whole body is flushed at this point, his face glowing with it, sweat pearling at his hairline. Jason makes eye contact with him and Dick holds it, panting, adjusting his grip on the chains above his cuffs. 

Then Slade turns the charge up further, and Dick cries out, every muscle in his body seizing. But he doesn't look away. His eyes are glued to Jason, and they only flutter down briefly when Jason unzips, sticks a hand down his jeans to touch himself. At that, Dick groans, which peters out into another whine from the shocks caused by the plug when the remote is turned up again. 

“Ready for more?” Slade asks, and now, finally, his voice is also tinged with arousal. He sends a pointed glance towards the table; towards the cattle prod, specifically.

Dick's eyes go wide, but he nods. “Yes, I – _fuck_!” He breathes through the next wave of agonizing pain-pleasure, body wrecked by another violent tremor. “Please. Yes. _Please_.” 

Slade grins with delight and turns to take the prod off the table. He holds it up and charges at empty air it once, the slight hum of electricity audible, and then steps in close. He waits until Dick's done dealing with the next surge from the plug and lets Dick watch as he slowly, ever so slowly, raises the prod. He keeps it hovering over Dick's chest, down his stomach, back up. The first sudden zap is delivered to a nipple, and Dick _wails_ , flinching back so hard that he has to scramble to keep his precarious balance. He screws his eyes shut against the increased strain that puts on his arms, which for a second have to take nearly his whole body weight, and Jason itches with the need to spring forward, steady him, hold him, _save him_. But even while he's muttering a low string of curses, Dick doesn't safe word, doesn't even say no or beg for mercy, and that means he doesn't need saving. He's still consenting. He's still a willing participant. 

The next few zaps happen in quick succession, down his stomach, and this time Dick is braced for them, manages to withstand them without too much fuss, without losing his footing. He tries harder to turn away when Slade delivers a few long shocks to his inner thighs, but his muscles lock and convulse visibly; he couldn't move away even if he had the room to do it. 

And then Slade stops with the prod a hands width away from Dick's cock. Tears pool in Dick's eyes, and there's no telling whether they're from the onslaught of the plug inside him, or from the anticipation of having the next zap doled out directly to his genitals. But he nods. He nods, and Slade touches the prod to the underside of Dick's cock, just below the crown. 

Dick screams, honest to god _screams_ , blinking away the tears that are running down his cheeks now, and Jason can hear his breathing pick up, shock and agony, jack-hammer rhythm against the sudden, intense pain. Apparently unimpressed, Slade zaps him again, lower, then again, on his balls, accompanied by near-constant noises of distress and pure anguish that are somehow, impossibly, interspersed with long, heavy moans, a familiar noise of deep pleasure. 

And then this part, too, is over. Slade puts the prod aside and disconnects the plug. He curls an arm around Dick, their height difference meaning that Dick can rest his head on Slade's shoulder and, for a moment, just silently cry. He's also mumbling at Slade, and the few words Jason can pick up sound grateful, sound grateful and like reaffirmation of Dick's enjoyment. It feels incredibly private, and Jason briefly wonders whether he should step back after all and leave them to it, whether this is a ritual he shouldn't be privy too. But it really doesn't last longer than a minute, if that, and Slade cards his fingers through Dick's sweat-damp hair before he reaches around him to pull the plug free, making Dick wince, and steps back. 

“What's next?” he says, and when Jason glances towards him, he's looking composed except for the way his face has gone heated, flushed as Dick's. As Jason's, too, probably, at this point. 

Dick stares at him, breathing heavily, and stays mute. 

“What's next?” repeats Slade, pointing to the table. 

All Dick replies to that is a whispered, _”Please.”_

Slade inhales, like he's reining himself in, lips in a thin line and one hand reaching out to assume a white-knuckled grip around the edge of the table. Then he looks to Jason. “I don't know how much experience you have with this, but... take him to the room where you prepped him. Fuck him. Get him off. He needs release, an end point for all this. Treat his back and make sure he drinks something, and then just hold him. Let him be as close to you as he needs, for as long as he needs.” 

Whether it's possessiveness or concern that makes it so visibly hard for him to hand off the aftercare, Jason will never know. He surely doesn't plan on asking. Slade isn't his priority now, and he hovers close by while Slade works to free Dick, lowers the up lines and removes the cuffs on his leg and arms and hooks Dick's arm over his shoulder to walk him to where Jason is waiting. 

Dick stumbles several times on the short walk towards the backroom, even though Jason carries most of his weight. He blinks when Jason maneuvers him to sit on the bed, says his name, and it's a weird feeling to direct him to turn over, pull him into position with his ass in the air and his head pillowed on his crossed arms; Jason's gotten a taste of subspace in their own play, but he's never seen Dick so far gone. He reminds himself that this is _for_ Dick, his release, that it's still part of a scene Dick agreed to, knowing how it'd end due to already having done it many times before. He undresses quickly, puts on a condom and climbs onto the bed. Dick's trembling when Jason lines up, thrusts inside, and it takes a few seconds before Dick manages to participate and push back against him. Jason pumps into him hard and fast even though he still feels selfish for it, feels like an asshole to fuck someone who seems barely there anymore, more so when he looks down to Dick's back and sees the welts from the whipping, the couple of reddened streaks on his ass from the riding crop, and he swallows hard when he remembers that Dick's probably also tender inside from the shocks of the plug. But it's the fastest way to get Dick to orgasm; relentless, quick and brutal thrusts from behind at just the right angle, both hands digging into Dick's hips to keep him in place, and so he keeps going. 

Jason reaches around him to stroke his cock when he feels Dick starting to clench around him, and his climax, when it hits, is short and mostly dry; the amount of fluid that dribbles out of him is hardly more than what he'd otherwise leak as precome. As soon as he's done, Jason pulls out, bringing himself off with a few harsh tugs, allowing himself the small indulgence of pulling the cheeks of Dick's ass apart so he's got somewhere to aim when he comes. 

Cleaning Dick up with the washcloth from the bedside table is mechanical, so is applying the salve, a quiet act of care and comfort that's necessary but not what either of them really wants or needs right now. Jason pulls Dick upwards so he's sitting on his haunches and makes him empty half a bottle of juice, in small sips so he doesn't choke, then lies onto his back and pulls Dick down beside him, his head resting on Jason's chest. They agreed beforehand that they'd stay the night, begrudgingly on Jason's part, but right now he sees the merit in that. It means he can stay right where he is, with Dick in his arms, hold him all night if that's what it takes and watch over him while he rests. 

He doesn't know how long it takes, how long he just brushes the hair out of Dick's face or carefully caresses the small of his back with his fingertips, but it feels like hours, ages, until Dick yawns and tips his head up to look at him. 

“Hey,” Jason says, smiling with relief. “There you are. Welcome back.” 

Dick swats at his chest. “I've been here the whole time. Just didn't feel like talking. It's not like I, I dunno, zoned out or something.” 

“Could have fooled me,” Jason replies, winking when Dick crinkles his nose at him. He's beautiful and strong and stubborn and everything Jason needs or wants in this world, and it's both so easy and so hard to believe that's the same person who spent the past hour or so strung up and letting himself be hurt for sexual gratification. And maybe that's the most beautiful thing about him: that it's all part of him, and that they'll walk out of here tomorrow and there will be no lingering deference, and absolutely no shame about anything Jason witnessed tonight.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on [tumblr](http://lostemotion.tumblr.com) or [twitter](https://twitter.com/spacenerdz).


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